When storms begin to approach Thuận An Beach (Huế City), the sea gradually encroaches on the shore, and the waves start rising higher, it is a sure sign that beach season is coming to an end.
This is when the owners of Sen Restaurant—where I use their freshwater shower after each swim—meticulously prepare offerings and respectfully kneel on the beach. Mrs. Sen and her husband Lanh raise the burning incense sticks to their foreheads and quietly communicate with the spiritual world. They give thanks to the Heavenly God, the God of the Sea, the God of the Land, and the countless unseen gods and spirits believed to dwell in and around their restaurant. They pray for a peaceful and fruitful season that has passed and, of course, for another good business season ahead. They also pray for calm seas, favourable weather, and safety for the fishermen and open-water swimmers who share these waters.
I was invited to attend the ritual after my usual ocean swim this morning. I am familiar with this kind of ritual, so I did not expect anything particularly special. But when I saw Mrs. Sen kneel on the beach, facing the ocean, and pray with such sincerity, I felt deeply touched.
Perhaps one of the most important things the mighty ocean has taught me—and anyone who feels a connection to it—is humility and respect.
The offerings for this annual ritual usually include incense sticks, flowers, fruits, votive papers, a whole steamed rooster, steamed sticky rice, steamed crabs, boiled eggs, rice wine, drinking water, plain porridge, and an assortment of delicious dishes. There is not just one altar for the God of the Sea and the spirits dwelling in the waters. Another altar is set up for the God of the Land and the spirits on land, while a smaller altar stands beneath a coconut tree, where they believe the spirit of an elderly woman dwells.
The offerings are prepared for the gods and spirits, both in and beyond the waters around here, to come and enjoy.
When everything is ready, a huge fire is built on the beach. According to local belief, spirits who linger in the sea after drowning may feel cold, so the fire is meant to warm them. I am not sure how this belief came about, but as we say in Vietnamese, xưa bày, nay làm—“what our ancestors used to do, we continue to do today.” And so the tradition lives on.
In that solemn atmosphere, I also stepped forward and stood formally before the altar to express my gratitude to the ocean and pray for more days of mưa thuận gió hoà—moderate rain and gentle winds. Peace and safety for all my swim buddies, and for everyone who happens to be at Thuận An Beach, were also part of my prayers.
A small party with karaoke was to follow the ritual, but being rather shy and introverted, I quietly made an excuse to leave before more people arrived to celebrate the end of beach season.
Anyway, I had already celebrated it in my own way.
Earlier that morning, I spent more than an hour swimming in the calm sea, making the most of these last beautiful conditions before the weather turns rough and big waves come rumbling into these waters.
Perhaps that was my own little way of saying thank you to the ocean—and showing it how much I love it.
Huế, September 16, 2026